


Property of Hyperion

by Comtesse



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Abandonment, Action/Adventure, Betrayal, Death, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Memories, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-11-12 21:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11170818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comtesse/pseuds/Comtesse
Summary: C1PH3R 04, AKA Cypher, has escaped an experimentation facility near her hometown of Overlook. With some memories in tact and many more missing, she follows the Vault Hunters on a mission to find her father and free those still stuck in the laboratory. And when she finds Handsome Jack, she will have her retribution. All thanks to a certain Psycho.Rating may be upped later.This is the same as my copy on FF.net.





	1. Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I only own my OCs. Everything else belongs to Gearbox.

This was what I was made for.

A dead skag pup was on the ground, twitching and rattling as the last bits of life faded away. I'd killed it, cracked its skull and ruptured its brain with my bare hands. Now I faced a much more interesting problem: the mother. The vibrant tattoos, etched into my skin over time, pulsed with my steady heartbeat, faint light glowing against my tanned flesh. Power pooled into my left hand. If one had control, they had the ability to survive anything Pandora could throw at them. I had enduring calm and flawless control. The mother was circling me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Step, step, pause. Step, step, pause. Her left side was lagging; the beast had a limp where I'd dislocated her foreleg. This was our purpose. This was why we were created. To kill. To serve. The mother skag roared her defiance at me and rushed forward, feet kicking up bits of dirt and dust. I shouted back and slammed my fist into her jaw. Violet light flickered around my arm. A spike of energy erupted into a cloud of purple wisps as I broke one of the skag's bones. She jerked back a bit with a whimper, but that seemed to be the extent of her acknowledgement. Pain wasn't her first concern. I was.

The alpha skag female snarled and pawed at the dirt; the left side of her face sagged and bled a little. I watched her throat rumble with a deep growl. She could smell her pup's blood on my hands, and bared her thorn-like teeth. I panted and glared at her in return, my shoulders limp with exhaustion. Hours must have gone by since practice had begun this morning. Sweat dripped down my face, stung my eyes. I couldn't look away from her. The last time I took my eyes off an opponent, my arm was destroyed, but I was so tired. The skag was suddenly in motion, rushing me again. I needed Eridium and a rest before I could try to break another of her bones. She was fast - alpha skags were always the best of the best in the pack - and I couldn't believe how hard it was for me to jump back, almost out of the way. Almost, but not really. Her jaws clamped shut around my entire head. Small, thorn-like teeth cut into my neck and collar, digging in and beginning to pull me up. She was trying to crush my neck, but her mouth was closed around the metal collar I wore. Everything was dark and smelled of rotting meat. I felt like panicking; I should have been panicking. It was hard to freak out, though, when everything seemed to be moving so slowly. The skag's barbed tongue scraped over my face, gashing my cheeks and forehead. I took a deep breath, despite the rancid stench inside the female's mouth, and clenched my fist again. The marks etched into my face lit up the interior of the beast's mouth - though not nearly as brightly as they would have, had I more energy left - as I drew every ounce of strength into my left hand. I shouted, hoping to startle her, as I twisted and further cut myself and my collar on the razor sharp teeth.

I saw something spark inside the skag's mouth as my fist connected with her throat. It's odd, vertical maw tightened briefly around my neck. Something sparked again - was that my collar? - and she released me. I was covered in blood and drool, which I for once noticed was quite disgusting. She was stumbling forwards, trying to catch her breath, growling at the same time. This was my chance. I drew my knife from the sheath on my hip and drove it into the small weak spot on its armored head: the eye. She howled in pain, rearing back on her hind legs and slashing at me with her long talons. A couple claws grazed my chest, but I couldn't really feel them. I was too interested in watching the huge skag fall over dead, my knife jammed deep into her eye.

Seconds passed like hours and I huffed, trying to catch my breath. "I killed that." My voice was gone, nothing but a whisper. "I killed an alpha skag with my bare hands." My eyes traveled over the fallen beast, then to my fingers, up my palms and arms. I'd done this a million times. Why did it just now feel exhilarating and new? My heart was thrumming in my chest like a bird's, my breath was heavy. Everything looked so much sharper, more crisp. I felt like I'd never really looked at my hands before, like I'd never noticed my glowing designs. The violet marks were beginning to dull, the light fading to what could easily have been mistaken for old tattoos.

"Enough, Cypher. Come back."

I raised my head, looking around. Whose voice was that? My body obeyed almost without hesitation, and it felt normal. But why follow a nameless voice? The collar sparked again and began to die. The soft edges receded even further, giving way to hard lines of reality. In truth, I knew where I was walking: back to the lab. But why did I want to go - because some man I could now see in a white coat told me to? The lab… The lab… It reminded me of discomfort. Loud voices. Screaming?

Clarity. It hit me like a tidal wave and I lost my balance. The ground rushed up to meet me.

I knew Pain. Pain and I were old friends, even. There was an edge to this that I hadn't felt before, though. I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, taking a moment to look down at the dry grass and dig my fingers into the dusty earth. This was new, almost pretty. A few red droplets dotted the ground, and I placed a couple fingers to a cold spot on my forehead. Warm blood stuck to them like dew, and I furrowed my brow. Was I always this fragile?

"Cypher. Come."

That voice. I remembered it, then: the voice that brought with it terrible pain, balefire, and thousands of needles. It made me angry. I jerked my head up and looked around. There he was, standing over me with more disapproval than I ever remembered seeing on his face. I was one of his survivors. We didn't disappoint him. Ever. I recalled a small ember of feeling in my chest that had been snuffed like a candle a long time ago. I had felt rage. I was _feeling_ rage. This wasn't so much a matter of remembering things once forgotten, but that these things were so much clearer. The same voice repeated that command: Cypher, come! I had always been spoken to as if I were just an animal. I didn't kill beasts. I was one to these men. I balled up my fist, taking dust and bits of grass in it, and ground my teeth. Why was I seeing this now? I'd been with the lab for a couple years. Surely I would have felt this sooner? Yes, all of this was clear as crystal, but it was still dulled by the fact that I was theirs. I belonged to them like property. My rage was not of their concern. Only that I gave them results.

The man grabbed me by the front of my collar and shook me once. Something cracked. I wondered if he could hear it. "Cypher, I said come!" He jerked up on the device and managed to pull me to my feet and then some. I was inches over the ground, blood pounding in my skull. He shook me again. "When I give you an order, you obey." And then the collar broke in two, splintering bits of metal cutting into the both of us. Morgan stood there, surprised. This must have been a first in his long years at the Reserve. Control collars never broke.

I was surprised I didn't crumple to the ground when the collar snapped, and thankful, too. Something in me wanted to stay and hurt these men that had caused me pain, but common sense gave me more sound advice. Standing upright, I didn't even reach Dr. Morgan's shoulders. He was stronger than me, too. I was exhausted, outgunned, and outnumbered. I had to run, to get away from these men before they imprisoned me again. "You're a rat-bastard." I threw the dirt in his face, turned tail, and ran as fast as I could. Another scientist was already shouting for sedation, no emotion apparent in his voice. My feet kicked up sand and dirt as I sprinted around a rock formation and kept going. Darts flew past me and stuck in the ground at my feet. This was my chance. I was headed for freedom.


	2. Unexpected

The Dead Sands was just as unforgiving as the rest of Pandora, but it seemed to have some of the most abundant beasts. Skags. Skags meant food. Skags meant carnage. They were easy enough to kill, sating my other half's worrisome need to murder, and they provided me with another few days' worth of food - if I could get myself to pay attention long enough to store it. Ten minutes after putting down a small skag pack, I was more than happy to be munching on a mostly-cooked skag leg, lazily swinging my axe around as I walked towards Lynchwood. It was nice to not be killing people, although I still smelled like waste and _really_ old meat. This wasn't helped by the fact that I was splattered head to toe in layers of blood from all sorts of things.

_"Can't you find a place to shower?"_

I hummed, tossing my axe into the air and catching it with skill I rarely possessed. What a feat. Sometimes I could hear me, sometimes I couldn't, and it was times like this that I could never tell one way or another. "Slaughter makes the paint fuzzy with gore." The words spilled forth as though I was singing an old song, bobbing my head this way and that with no semblance of rhythm. This last week or so wasn't the best thing ever, especially in comparison to what we had left behind last month, but it wasn't a particularly big deal, I guessed. Things could have been worse.

Not long ago, after rescuing Roland, I found myself more in control than usual. More... Functional. Communication between these two parts of me had become less strained. The usual disconnect with my body had seemed to be mending. I had begun to speak in (mostly) coherent sentences, and slaughter wasn't something this body relied on to stay calm. People had seemed to become more tolerant of me - though there was this one woman who screamed when she saw me. Every. Time. Still, I was beginning to feel more human as the days went by. I had made five friends, and had a soft spot for Gaige. There was something innocent about her that I didn't want to see broken. We looked out for each other. Maya, though, she was something else. I could have sat and listened to her talk for days. Axton - hm?

An engine roared, pulling me from my thoughts. Something glinted far off and raised a huge cloud of dust behind it. Whoever was driving was determined to catch someone, a stumbling shadow. I lifted my head a bit more, squinting to see what the commotion was. Someone was running, all right, as if their life depended on getting away from whoever it was that chased them.

_"Don't do it. It's not our bus-"_

I'd already raised my axe over my head, opened my mouth, and started screaming. "Meat for the meat throne! Blood for the blood gods!" And then I proceeded to take off like a bat outta hell. Sometimes I amazed myself.

Running was never a problem for me. I don't remember if it was something from the experiments or the life I had before, but I made short work of long distances, despite my uneven gait. In the time it took me to get close enough to understand what the driver was saying, the car had stopped near an overhang between myself and the running figure, which was just perfect. The vehicle was filled with two men that looked like soldiers and one that was wearing a long, white coat. They didn't see me looming over them, glaring through the one open eye in my mask. My head canted to the side, face twitching with rage. I knew what my body wanted to do. Kill. People screamed better than skags or rakk. They died more spectacularly.

Oh god. I was beginning to understand myself.

I watched as they descended from their vehicle, and White-Coat placed a hand on one of the soldiers as if to hold him back. "Don't kill it, Greggory. We need it alive." The soldier nodded and put his pistol away, pulling a metal rod from a pouch. It extended to about a foot and a half, with a heavy ball on the end. White-Coat chuckled and began to dig in his own bag for something. The second soldier appeared to be much more new. I felt a little bad for him, but not very. He had a nightstick, too, and was waving it threateningly at someone that was very bloody and broken.

The figure was on their hands and knees, gasping for breath. "I'm not going back there. I'd rather die." I couldn't tell by the rough voice, but I thought it was male.

White-Coat laughed, stepping towards the dirt-encrusted man. I couldn't see what was in the doctor's hands, but it made the man on the ground shuffle backwards. "How unfortunate that no one cares what you think."

It was building inside of us, that desire to slice flesh from bone. As a voice in my own head, I only had so much control - which ended up with me having to barter with myself more often than not - over what I did and didn't do. This time, though, there was no holding my other half back. "I can't wait to gorge on your liver!" My shout was so loud, so angry, it startled the men. The scientist - that word gave me a migraine - jumped from his own skin. When he turned, his jaw dropped in fear. My axe sliced through the air with ease, landing deep in White-Coat's shoulder and spewing forth a red mist of blood. He screamed, and my body tingled with satisfaction. Splinters of bone and meat sprayed back onto my chest. His body went limp, held aloft by my axe. My chest rumbled with a deep laugh. "Meat makes most magnificent murder."

Three pairs of eyes were glued to me, but I was face to face with only the bigger of the two soldiers. He was in green and brown from head to toe, a Dahl SMG on his back and pistol in his holster, though I had no doubt he had other weapons at his disposal. He raised his metal stick at me, threatening. "We got company, Ewan." When he realized a stick wouldn't deter me, he dropped it in favor of his pistol. His eyes were trained on me, beady things that challenged the monster that I was. "Get the target. I got this one." By the time he had finished, his gun was aimed for my head, poised to land a bullet between my eyes. I didn't end the white coat's misery; just pulled my axe out of him - rip, tear, pieces of his flesh came with my blade, and he yowled in pain - and rushed the soldier.

"Look into my eyes when I stare at you!" I shouted, swinging my axe at him. He jumped back just enough that I tore his jacket a bit, and he fired a few good shots at my face. Light blue flickered over my uncovered eye, radiating from where the bullets bounced off my shield. He was running backwards, still trying to break my shield, when I threw my axe at him. It lodged into his leg. He didn't scream like the scientist, though. He grunted, dropped his pistol, and pulled a shotgun from his leg-holster.

"Go to hell." The blast was meant for my head, and he must have had a great gun; my shield shattered like glass. Thankfully, the only pellets that got through my shield either buried themselves in my mask or grazed over my scalp. The bad thing about shotguns: they take a few seconds to reload. In one swift motion, I grabbed the baton from where he'd dropped it and brought it down on his skull with all my might. The spurt of blood and crack of bone didn't sate me, though the soldier did fall over. I pulled my axe from his leg and drove it into his face. Blood spattered all over me, and the younger, more wiry soldier stared in horror.

He must have been Ewan, who was very much focused on me. Ewan wore the same uniform as the first soldier with the same stupid looking gun on his belt, but his face blanched immediately. From the way his mouth was quivering, he may have been trying to talk, or scream. He wasn't ready for me when I buried my blade in his chest, sending blood and lung-meat everywhere. Poor guy. He might have actually been a decent person, but good people were killed everyday. Still holding my axe, I kicked Ewan's body and sent his trembling corpse flying forward a few feet.

Grass crunched behind me. I turned. The white coat hadn't died and was fumbling with an Anshin vial. I took a few steps closer, and he noticed me watching, glaring down through the one open eye in my mask. He shrieked and dropped the vial. This part of me, the sane part, felt bad for killing him, but I laughed just before I cut his head off. "Darkest souls are thrown into the pile." It had the inflection of, 'That was totally awesome!' Weird. I hadn't heard that one before. Stammering behind me caught my attention. Ah, yes, the figure that had been stumbling through the Sands. I looked, clenching my bloodied fingers around the handle of my favored weapon. She was trembling, sweating, and weak. Easy prey.

Wait... She? Yeah, I could see it now. With her looking up at me, instead of at the ground, I could see the thinness of her face, the violet eyes round with fear, and the gentle curve of her chest. She was panting, holding a knife up to me as if she was strong enough to use it. Her other hand was propping her up. There was something about her that wasn't quite exotic, but different, kinda pretty.

" _She's an innocent, buddy."_

Sometimes I heard me, sometimes I didn't. I was on edge, watching, waiting. After a few moments, my shoulders relaxed. In the heat of a fight, it was a little hard to tell my other half important things like "Stop" or "Tell him to get out of the way", but I was starting to calm down. I was able to (somewhat) listen to me, again. I didn't look away from her, canting my head and watching as she swept a bit of dirt from her face. That was what made her look different! They were faint, covered in all kinds of mess, but they were there: light purple designs that traced up and down her left side.

_"Another Siren?"_

Yes, she had to be. The vibrant purple hair that matched her eyes, the way her marks seemed brighter than the rest of her skin, she had to be a Siren. Her black shirt had been torn beyond repair, though it didn't reveal anything that would embarrass her, and what had been black pants were just as damaged. I was a little confused as to what a Siren would be doing all the way out here, or why she didn't just kill those guys with her brain, but that would settle itself later. The marks on her left side throbbed with faint light again.

_"Yeah, she's a Siren like Maya. I think she needs our help."_

The name of my first friend, the most beautiful woman I had ever met, sent mixed feelings through me. My lip curled, arm tightened as though to strike, but stayed obediently at my side. I was sure I didn't look all that welcoming, covered head to toe in blood, axe in my hand, and a mask over my face that was meant to be terrifying. In fact, that was probably why she was trying to slowly back away, but her right leg wasn't working.

_"Tell her you won't hurt her, that she's safe."_

I growled, stepping closer to her. "Slaughter makes the powder on parrots tingly."

She inched back, violet eyes wider. Her hands shook as she raised the knife higher. "Please let me go. I'll be out of your sight before you know it." Her voice sounded wrong, raspy. She jerked a bit and yelped in pain, grabbing the bum leg and dropping the knife. "Shit."

_"She's not going anywhere with that wound. You can do it. Tell her we can help her."_

"Chains glitter like candied spleens."

_"No! Safe! I know for a fact you can say one four-letter word!"_

My axe fell to the dusty ground as I wrapped my hands around my head. I snarled and clawed at the back of my skull, where the belts secured the mask over my face. I could try all I wanted, but I wan't going to tear the voice out of my own head. After a second, I looked at the woman and glared at her. "Sssafffe." There, I barked it out. It wasn't a complete victory, but that was a nice start.

She stopped trying to back away. "Wh-what?" she whispered.

Under the mask, I ground my teeth. "Safe."

Her face didn't quite soften, but there was definitely a weight lifted off her shoulders. She fell back into the dirt and took a deep breath. "Thank the gods." Were I driving this eighteen-wheeler of crazy, I would have been right down there with her, sighing and taking a break from the endless walking and killing I had been doing. But I wasn't, and couldn't take my attention away from getting this body to work right.

_"Good boy! Now, grab that vial the doctor was going to use and give it to her. We can take her over to Ellie's for the night. Maybe take her to Sanctuary in the morning."_

"Stop quibbling about bacon and bandages!" I shouted. Damn, did I really hate communicating that much? Probably. The only time I seemed to be calm was with guts squelching in my hands. I hadn't wanted this much control, this much human interaction, in a long time. I was probably testing my limits, whatever limits those were.

_"Just do it. The sooner you get her on her way, the sooner you get to ransacking bandit camps. Okay?"_

"Feed the meat?" I asked hopefully.

_"Yeah yeah. You can kill as many things as you want once we help her. It's a deal. Just get her healed and take her to the garage."_

She sat up to watch me, head tilted to the side. I stooped down and grabbed the faintly glowing injection from the dead scientist's hand. When I offered it to her, the woman seemed cautious, as though she thought it was a varkid about to strike her. She pulled her hand away, then, and refused to take it. "I don't know what it does," she said.

_"Tell her it'll heal her wounds."_

Without hesitation, maybe with a hair too much haste, I jammed the needle into her arm and pushed down on the plunger. She shrieked "What the hell, man?!" louder than a rakk and scrambled back a bit, but Zed's little potion was already working magic. She must have noticed, too, because she stared at her beat-up hands as the tiny wounds there began to mend. Various cuts on her face disappeared, a larger scrape on her cheek weaving closed and revealing porcelain-white skin. I hadn't noticed the gash on her thigh. It looked deep, deep enough that one shot wasn't going to completely heal her. But at least the bleeding stopped.

_"Close enough, I guess. Now see if we can't get that car to start."_

I growled indignantly, taking a deep breath. We had an agreement, and I would abide by it. Lucky for us, the keys were still in the ignition, and it was a standard model of runner. Just like Scooter's, although there were little modifications that I didn't recognize: map of sorts with flashing red dot in the center and extra mounts and scopes for guns. It was strange, but I knew how to work it just fine.

She was sitting on the ground, holding the still-open gash on her thigh, covered in all kinds of dirt and grass when I walked back to her. I wondered how long she had been running to look so frail and dirty, but (thankfully) didn't say anything else. I scooped her up like a kid, carried her over, and put her in the back of the Light Runner. Surprisingly, I managed to not hurt her any more than she already was. That was something, at least. Maybe hope for me wasn't completely lost.


	3. New Arrival

Gauging time as it passed without a watch was apparently not my strong suit. I couldn't tell if I had been riding in the car for one hour or three, but with the way my insane rescuer was driving, I was thankful when it was over. Oh yeah, there was no doubt in my mind that this man was off his rocker, especially when he shouted "Insurance fraud!" after  _going out of his way_  to hit some spiderants. A lot of spiderants. He probably managed to wipe out a whole colony or two by the time he was finished. The gods had no mercy on the Bandits we crossed - not that I did, either. When it wasn't killing someone, it was unnecessary hairpin turns, rocketing off ledges for no reason and other tricks that made my stomach flip. Hmmm. Yep, he was nuts. If he hadn't saved me, I'd have thought he really was a Bandit, but Bandits weren't willing to save the lives of strangers. Were they?

He had pulled in to a garage somewhere in the middle of the desert - let's not forget that he had to slam on the brakes and nearly send me flying over a mound of junk - though I really wished he would have told me where we were. Garbage and scrap metal were piled all over the place, some of which crawled with a few young spiderants. The sky was a myriad of colors, from blue to pink to purple, green, and yellow. It was gorgeous to look at. I couldn't remember the last time I took notice of a sunset, let alone when I saw one so clearly. After a moment or two longer of staring, I noticed there was a sign that read 'Ellie's Garage'. Huh, sure didn't look like much, but it was a roof and four walls, at least. Before I could ask for assistance, the man jumped out of his seat and walked inside.

And left me. In the top of a rather tall vehicle. With a still very-sore leg.

"Somehow, I am not surprised." I sighed and pulled myself up, balancing my weight on my left foot. After sitting for what was probably a few hours, my muscles already groaned and strained in protest. I looked from the hood of the runner to the doorway leading in to the garage. This was going to suck.

Five exhausting minutes passed before I was out of the car and panting, leaning against the warm metal vehicle for support. It would be a miracle if I could make it up the stairs and into the building before the sun was finished setting. Not that I was bothered by the thought of a night under the stars, but spiderants weren't my favorite company, and the few on their own little pile seemed to be creeping closer.

"Oh, darlin! What happened ta you?" Before I could see who it was, a large pair of breasts was suffocating me, arms pulling me into a tight hug. Yep. That was pain I was feeling. Again. She set me back down, and I got a good look at the woman beyond the boobs. She was definitely as tall as she was wide, wearing an orange shirt and oil-stained overalls. Interestingly enough, the woman smelled as much like flowers as she did gasoline. "Sweetheart, did Krieg do all this to you? I swear, someone needs ta teach that man some manners. Ain't never gonna get a lady ta keep him otherwise." Though the words themselves weren't kind, the woman was wearing a friendly smile.

I looked up at her, wondering what in the seventh circle of hell I had gotten myself in to. "Uh, Krieg?"

She laughed as she pulled out a needle from her pocket, the same kind as before. I reluctantly offered my arm. "The cutie that drove you here. Or at least, he's got a nice body. Never seen his face before, though." The injection didn't hurt as much this time, and when I stepped with my bum leg, it didn't howl in pain. I was, however, still very tired from everything else. She clicked her tongue, as though she was looking at a disobedient child, and turned to help me inside. "Anyway, why don' we getcha cleaned up an' fed? I got a spare bedroom an' some chili y'all can have. There's a shower, too, but the water ain't always hot."

Ellie let me lean on her for support, which made walking a much easier, less painful process than anything I could have tried alone. Steps were uncomfortable, but the mechanic was more than happy to be patient, waiting and talking while I made my way up. The garage, itself, was just as small as it looked from the outside, but down some steps - god, more steps - and through a hallway, there was a warm den that was big enough for seven Ellies, plus me.

"Now, the guest room is over there on yer left," she said, pointing towards a hall, "and the bathroom is attached to it. Go on ahead an' clean up. I'll have somethin' warm waitin' for ya when you get done." With that, she waddled off towards what must have been the kitchen.

I hadn't gotten to the guest room door when I heard Ellie yell loud enough to shake the walls.

"Tarnation, Krieg! You are not taking all my bread and runnin'!"

"Ribcages-"

"Ribcages nothin'! Yer gonna go get cleaned up an' eat a right proper meal! An' for the love of God, take a shower! You smell like Scooter after a year without a bath!"

Something crackled with life, and I could hear a faint voice from the kitchen. "Aw, shucks, Ellie. I took a bath event-chally."

"Scooter, you still stink."

I closed the door to the guest room and sighed, leaning back against it. That conversation was probably none of my business. The room was nice, at least, all earthy tones of beige and tawny brown. The walls were creamy tan, the bed covered in espresso-colored blankets and white pillows. It all looked so soft. I couldn't help myself. I was covered head to toe in dirt and grime, but I sat on the foot of the bed. Yes, definitely soft. The bed begged me to relax further, to rest. I laid back and spread my arms out, neither one of my hands quite reaching the edge of the massive bed. This was heaven in comparison to a cot in a cell for two years.

Before I could fall asleep, I convinced myself that a shower and food were more important at the time and stood. There was a dresser to my left, and I rummaged around in a few of the drawers. The selection was small: army green shirts of one size, massive overalls, large orange shirts, camouflage cargo pants, boxers, and fishing vests. At least some of it looked like it fit. I put a pair of boxers and one of the smaller shirts on the bed and walked into the bathroom.

For someone that was a grease-monkey for a living, Ellie sure did know how to design a bathroom. Everything was blue and white tile, the faucets and knobs shiny chrome. I was honestly surprised. There were fluffy white towels and washcloths stacked in the cabinet, shampoo and soap on a shelf in the shower, and lotion by the sink. It was... Nice. There was a mirror over the sink, and I paused to take a look. Part of me wished I hadn't. Thanks to Anshin, I had no scars, but I still barely recognized myself. My skin had become darker over the years, even without being covered in dirt. Faded lavender streaks and dots pulsed with faint light around my left eye and down my neck. If memory served, my hair was once blonde and I'd had green eyes. Looking into the mirror, I saw how thin I had become, though not gaunt. My features were sharper, but I was still me. Mostly. Wasn't I? In truth, I barely felt like myself. Some of the things I'd done with Hyperion... I shook my head and wasted no more time in starting the shower, stripping, and getting in.

The hot water felt amazing. At the lab, we were hosed off, more often than not. Depending who was in charge that day, we got lukewarm showers. I began scrubbing, enjoying the scent of the floral soap. I couldn't help but let my mind wander, though. Seriously, what was next? I was free, yeah, but I had nowhere to go. Before the lab, I lived with my mother and father in Overlook, but what were the chances they would take me back after so long? I was gone for, what, two and a half years? Would they even recognize me? Would they take me back if they did? If they didn't, where would I go? I filled my hands with water and splashed it up into my face. I could worry about that tomorrow. I had a warm meal and bed for the night.


End file.
